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The weak image of two teenagers shouting at one another filled the blank darkness. It was not in a picture frame, or even a photo album. It was the faint remnant of a memory; this particular memory often occupied the mind of Harry Potter as he laid in bed. He never ceased to wonder what his life might have been like if his parents had lived. If only they were there, right then, he might be able to tell them how much he wanted to know them. The image faded and vanished, just like the parents he might have known.

She gripped the cold headstone with both hands, clasping it as if it were the last thing she would ever touch. It was ironically bright outside, contrasting starkly with her wilted form. Yesterday had been the last day she would ever see her brother’s face; his name inscribed in the shining marble seemed out of place, almost like a joke. But it wasn’t, and it would never be funny. She flopped back, allowing her soft fingers to drag along the jagged edge of the stone, welcoming the white scratches that appeared on her palms. The physical pain was unbelievably comforting.

Title: His Secret Everything

I wrap my fingers around the soft curls of her red hair. They are curls I hardly had the pleasure of running my fingers through before this day, but now I can run my fingers through her hair as if no one is watching.

Her face is still warm with life, even if it is gone from her body. I touch my rough thumb pad to her cheek and drag it across. This is my last time looking into the face of my best friend’s wife. The woman who I loved more than life itself. She was my secret everything.

Loss is not death in its entirity. Losing someone does not make dying essential. He had experienced loss in more ways than one. If anyone knew what loss really was, it was him.

Loss was when she had sat at the opposite table, while he joined the students in green. Loss was when he called her that hateful word, and saw her brilliant green eyes falter. Loss was when he knew he was too late. That smile wasn't for him, and he could do nothing to change it.

Before she died, he had already lost her, making death that much worse.

By the way, this is Snape talking about Lily.

>>>>>>>>

Title: Mirrors Are Never The Same

He looked at the identical features, down to the last freckle. He watched as he moved his mouth simultaneously with the boy beside him as he talked to the green-eyed hero, who had a glint of guilt across his face.

When talking to their friend, they had duplicate smiles that didn't reach their eyes. They said the same out of character, half-hearted remarks.

And when George is alone, he turns his head, revealing that they also had the same missing ear.

He thought he had been looking in a mirror his whole life, but mirrors weren't the same.

>>>>>>>>

Title: A Loss of Memory

There were not detailed ways to describe how to deal with this kind of thing hidden beneath a book cover. Very rarely had she felt unprepared, uncertain.

She knew she had done the right thing, deep within herself. This was the safest, most logical thing. But that did not change the way she hesitated before confronting them, afraid she could not bare the site of their eyes not holding an ounce of recognition for her appearance. Surely, they would remember something.

Of course, they had no idea what they had lost. They were not aware they had lost a thing.

That was about Hermione erasing her parent's memory of her, and having to face them to recollect them again.

People would spend much less time succumbing to melodramatic grief if only they had the capacity to think logically. If only they realized that out of every dozen things they mourn the loss of, they only have the actual right to mourn one, at best.

One can only truly grieve over the loss of something one can call their own. What loss can one speak of, if there is no possession?

Therefore, one simply cannot mourn the loss of something never attained. For the sheer fact of there being no loss to mourn.

Ron slumped against the wall, trying to override his feelings of loss. Sweat and tears flew down his face, together as one. It was as though a part of him had broken off, the world was falling, it was all of no use… love, school, Hermione, Voldemort- all trifles, compared to the pain he was going through… It was all the fault of his stupid brothers, the bloody pranksters! After THIRTEEN YEARS, to be separated was, indeed terrible. But no! He would rise above the loss! Work every second; regain what he had lost!

Ron. Would. Find. His. Teddy. Bear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Title: Soul

He groped into the deepest corners of his brain, the very depths of his soul, for hatred. With a burst of legilimency, Riddle searched the rotting mind of the worthless scum covering before him- for memories of his mother. He saw her shrieking with pain as she was punished with the Cruciatus Curse- a reprimand for loving his Muggle father. He saw every occasion she was hurt.

Bringing these into his head, Riddle scrunched his face with pure, unadulterated hatred.

“Avada Kedavra!”

And before he knew it, another piece of his soul was gone- gone, ripped from his body, lost…

He ran his hand over the surface of her desk allowing his fingers to linger on the beautiful locket he had given her for her birthday last year. He caressed the cold exterior as he thought about the lock of her hair that was inside.

He fell onto the bed as tears ran down his face. He wanted to see her eyes alight with laughter again, to watch as she revealed her white teeth in a dazzling smile… Oh how he missed her smile.

She stares at the girl before her in barely disguised confusion. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, slim frame – the girl before her is the picture of innocence. But if you push up the sleeve on her left arm you see truly what she is. And then the perfect, angelic image is shattered, marred by the grotesque skull image branded deeply into her skin, there forever. And that mark has caused everything to fall apart, nothing sure, everything broken. She looks away from the girl, from herself – turns from the mirror. It stays silent.

Carrie watched the dancing flame as it swayed and fluttered mercilessly on the wick. On impulse, she placed her hand directly into the fire. She jerked back. Her mind instinctively concluded that she had wanted to ensure that her heart’s intense emotional pain hadn’t numbed the physical. Besides her hand being lightly dusted in black soot and inflamed, no serious harm had been done. She blew out the flame after a minute, finding that not even her favorite scent of candle could pacify the tingling nerves she felt all over her body. She missed him more than she could bear.